


Un Colpo Al Cuore

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Apparent (not real) character death, Community: lewis_challenge, Echoes of Morse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trope Challenge, Villain from the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Thought you’d want to know, Hathaway. There’s been a 999 call from your boss’s next-door neighbour. Reported something happening in Lewis’s flat, and asked for police, fire and ambulance.”</i>
</p>
<p>It's the day Lewis is due back in work after his Italian holiday, and James is awoken with bad news...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Un Colpo Al Cuore

**Author's Note:**

> An approximate translation of the title is _A blow to the heart_. The Italian is in honour of Lewis's Italian holiday.
> 
> Written for the Trope Challenge on the LiveJournal community Lewis_Challenge. With grateful thanks to Owlbsurfinbird for her kind and helpful comments on an early version of this story. Any errors remain entirely my responsibility.
> 
> * * *

The shrill ring of James’s mobile wakes him from a deep sleep, and he drags his hand out from under the duvet and gropes for it, at the same time observing that it’s a little after three in the morning. He swears. Not just for the obvious reason, but also because Lewis is due back in work tomorrow after his Italian holiday. If James picks up a new investigation tonight, he’ll be stuck on that for at least half the day until he can hand it over to someone else and get back to being Lewis’s bagman.

It’s not Control. It’s the duty sergeant at the nick. “Cole? This better be important.”

“Thought you’d want to know, Hathaway. There’s been a 999 call from your boss’s next-door neighbour. Reported something happening in Lewis’s flat, and asked for police, fire and ambulance.”

_Christ_. “Is he all right? What happened?” He’s already out of bed and halfway to the wardrobe, trying to steady his breathing and focus on grabbing what he needs.

“No idea. Call only just came in and response is on the way.” 

If there was anything to know yet, Cole would know it. James throws a shirt and a pair of trousers on the bed and starts pulling off his T–shirt. “Thanks for the call.”

“No probs. Look, keep me updated, yeah? Lewis is a good bloke. Wouldn’t want anything happening to him.” Right. Cole’s known Lewis for years, James recalls his boss mentioning once. They were sergeants together.

“I will.” James hangs up, drops the phone on the bed and gets dressed, faster even than when he is on a callout. In under two minutes, he’s in his car with blue lights flashing, police radio running, on his way to Lewis’s flat.

* * *

The night sky is ablaze with blue and red lights as soon as James turns into Lewis’s street. An ambulance and at least four cars, both uniform and unmarked. As he draws closer, he can see officers standing guard outside the building which houses Lewis’s flat, and there are others milling about in the road or talking on radios. 

The ambulance is parked with its doors standing open, but the paramedics are nowhere in sight. The fire engine’s lights are flashing, and two firefighters are visible close to it, but the hoses aren’t in use. And on the far side of the road, there’s a huddle of people, most dressed in nightwear with coats or dressing-gowns clearly pulled on in a hurry, and they’re being kept together by a couple of PCs. Lewis’s neighbours? The building’s been evacuated? What the _fuck’s_ going on? The radio chatter told him nothing.

Bringing his car to a halt, James scans the group of civilians. Lewis isn’t there. He’s not anywhere among the coppers on the street, either. Inside the building? Is he all right, or is he hurt, or...?

James parks and throws the car door open, and immediately a uniform approaches him, with the obvious intent of sending him on his way, but then the officer recognises him. “Sergeant Hathaway! Erm...”

He cuts PC Jones off. “What happened? And where’s DI Lewis?”

Jones shakes his head. “All I know is someone called 999. A shitload of people went inside as soon as we got here, and no-one’s come out since apart from that lot over there.” He nods at the huddle of worried-looking residents. “We were told to keep the civilians well away from the building, and stand by to evacuate buildings on either side.”

James’s gut clenches. “I’m going in there.”

Jones steps aside. “You can try, Sarge. Not sure they’ll let you.”

“They _fucking_ better not try to stop me.” He brushes past Jones and marches up to the entrance. 

Immediately, a uniform sergeant – not someone James recognises – steps in front of him. “You can’t go in there, sir.”

James flashes his warrant card and moves forward. “DI Lewis is my governor. I’m going in.”

The sergeant doesn’t move. “Chief Superintendent’s orders. No-one goes in unless she says so.”

She? Innocent, then, and not a uniform CS from one of the neighbouring nicks. “She’ll let me in. I’m Lewis’s–”

“Doesn’t matter who you are.” The sergeant isn’t budging. “She said nobody and she meant nobody.”

Frustrated, worried, James takes a step backwards and pulls out his phone. Innocent’s third on his speed-dial. He’s just pressed the number when the door opens and a paramedic emerges, pulling on one end of an ambulance trolley bed, another paramedic visible over his shoulder.

Lewis? Has to be. Who else could it be? So he’s hurt. Badly? Heart thumping, James steps back to let them pass, and stares down at the trolley, hoping to see his boss give him a reassuring stop bloody fussing, man glare.

Instead, what meets his gaze is a sealed black body bag.

Everything switches into slow motion. The red and blue lights behind him fade and blur, and the voices around him become distorted, like an old, stretched-out cassette tape. All that’s left is the black bag on the trolley. 

He doubles over, gasping, the pain worse than a stab to the gut. It takes several heaving breaths before he can straighten up again. He can’t focus anywhere other than the body bag. Lewis, his governor, his mentor, his friend, the man... 

Lewis. Dead. How? Why? 

He reaches out a hand, slowly, shakily, towards the covered shape on the trolley. But, abruptly, a firm hand lands on his shoulder and the sights and sounds of the night return. “Sorry, sir, you’ll need to stand aside.” The paramedics bustle past him, bearing their burden towards the ambulance.

James watches as the trolley, with its still, lifeless cargo, is stowed inside and the doors closed. There are tight bands around his chest and again he has to gasp for breath. His vision’s becoming blurred. A small part of him knows that this is right, that if Lewis is taken then it’s only fair that he should go too–

“Hathaway!”

Grudgingly, he turns towards the familiar voice. “What happened? Who did this?” His voice cracks halfway through, and he has to swallow as he finishes.

“Sergeant Hathaway.” Innocent’s voice is crisp, commanding obedience. “I’m going to have someone drive you to the nick. I’ll see you there in due course.”

“No,” he protests. “I’m following–”

“You’re going to the nick. Constable Barrett!” she calls, and a uniform hurries over. “Hathaway, give Barrett your keys. Now!” she adds, a clear order. “Go to my office and wait for me.”

He’d argue, but what’s the point? What can he do here that isn’t already being done? It’s too late, anyway. Lewis is dead.

* * *

He’s been pacing in the anteroom of Innocent’s office for almost an hour. His chest’s tight, his eyes are stinging, but he just feels numb. He can’t sit down or stand still; any time he tries, all he can see is that body bag on the trolley bed, with Lewis inside it. 

Or Lewis’s face. Lewis with pride in his eyes as he told James he was going to be a grandfather. That pride turning to worry as he talked about his father dying young, and his own fear that his life could be cut short. And James, still in shock that Lewis was apparently serious about retiring, offering no reassurance. 

How could he have been so self-centred that he couldn’t have said one word? How could he not have told Lewis what having the DI as his governor had meant to him, how every day working beside Lewis had made him a better man in every way, how much he’d miss– 

The outer door opens abruptly and Innocent hurries in. “James! I’m so sorry I kept you waiting so long. Things took longer than I expected.”

He wants to tell her that it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except finding out who did this to Lewis. Because his death wasn’t accidental. Not with such a huge police presence at the flat. Someone did this, and James is going to find that person and make sure they pay for what they did. Lewis deserves no less.

“James.” He refocuses on Innocent; she’s beckoning him into her office. He follows her, and takes a seat when bidden. She’s looking less than her usual calm and collected self, but then he’s not exactly his usual self either. And he’d be furious on his boss’s behalf if Innocent looked completely unmoved.

“What happened?” His words are sharp and abrupt, and he adds a quick “Ma’am.”

“James.” Again, her voice is calm and low, straight out of the victim-support manual. “Lewis is alive. And, beyond a few minor scratches, unhurt.”

All his breath escapes in one sudden exhale. “Alive?” The word’s gasped. His eyes are burning. _How?_ And why the body bag? 

“Alive,” Innocent confirms. “And I am sorry that you had to believe otherwise, James, but as you’ll soon understand, we felt that it was the right decision to pretend that the attempt on Lewis’s life was successful.”

That makes some kind of sense, but for Lewis not to tell _him_? “Where is he now, Ma’am? Still in his flat? Can I talk to him?”

Innocent’s expression turns steely. “You should know I can’t tell you that.”

James would argue – why the hell should he not know where Lewis is? He’s Lewis’s bagman, after all – but he knows Innocent well enough to be certain that if he pushes it he’ll get nothing further out of her. And there’s a lot he needs to know here.

“So...” He has to swallow before he can continue. “Someone did... try to kill him?”

Innocent nods. “A man named Hugo de Vries, Lewis believes.”

“De Vries,” James echoes. Sent to prison for life – for the second time – twenty years ago. “He’s out?”

Innocent looks mildly surprised. “That case was well before your time, James.” He shrugs. Any half-decent bagman would research their new governor, wouldn’t they? He’d spent what spare time he had in his first six months with Lewis systematically going through Lewis’s old case files, both before and after his promotion to inspector. “Yes, he’s out,” Innocent continues. “Though – not for the first time – not with official approval. I was informed half an hour ago that he escaped from Long Lartin Prison four days ago.”

Hugo de Vries, whose method of exacting revenge on DCI Morse not only framed him for a crime he didn’t commit, but also very nearly saw him burned to death in a fire in his own flat. From what James recalls, the man was not only an extremely clever conman, but a master of disguise, skilled with technology and excelling at mind games. 

Though, after twenty years in a maximum-security prison, and now in his late sixties, could he still be as skilled as he once was?

“Lewis is certain it was de Vries? What did he say? What _happened_?”

Innocent meets his gaze across her desk. “You know that Lewis returned from his Italian holiday yesterday evening. He went to bed, a little earlier than usual because he was tired, and then woke up around half-past two needing the loo. It was when he came back to his bedroom that he noticed a faint ticking sound. He investigated and found a small device stuck to the underside of his bed. He says he didn’t recognise the look of the mechanism and decided to call the Bomb Squad from the kitchen. He was just on his way out of the bedroom when the device exploded. The force knocked him off his feet, but the paramedics say he has no injuries other than a few bruises. His neighbour banged on the door while he was still a bit stunned and catching his breath, so he wasn’t able to answer her.”

James’s heart is thumping. “So he had a very narrow escape. If he’d been in the bed...”

“Yes, he is very aware of that.” Innocent’s expression is sober, and furious. “As am I.”

“So De Vries wasn’t just making a threat, the way he did with Morse.” James’s hands are shaking. He shoves them between his knees.

“No. And you asked how Lewis was certain it was de Vries.” Innocent slides an evidence bag across the desk. James leans forward to examine the contents: a DVD cover for Mozart’s _The Magic Flute_ , with an illegible signature across the bottom. “Lewis found it with his post, which he’d picked up from the hall last night but didn’t go through. He says he doesn’t remember de Vries’s signature, but we can make out some letters that fit.”

“And the opera fits.” The same opera de Vries had used to terrorise DCI Morse more than twenty years ago.

“Exactly. Anyway, once Lewis guessed that de Vries was involved, he decided to lie low until the first responders came, and he got one of them to phone me – though, as it happens, I was already on my way. And I agree entirely with his proposal to let de Vries think he’s succeeded, for the time being. We don’t want him trying again.”

“But he’ll know we’ll be looking for him.” Not that James wants the bastard getting another shot at killing Lewis, but surely the man will have left the country by now.

“It’s much more difficult for known criminals to hide these days,” Innocent comments dryly. “He may be able to disguise his appearance, and perhaps even his fingerprints, but iris scans and other technology will give him away every time. We _will_ find him, James. I’ll stake my career on it.”

* * *

James is sworn to secrecy about Lewis – and, given rumours of his death are swirling around the nick by seven in the morning, he’s clearly one of very few who know the truth. And, much though he resents not knowing more, he realises he’s fortunate to know as much as he does. This is the kind of secret that really does need to be limited to as few people as possible, and Innocent hadn’t had to tell him. 

In fact, it might even have been better had he not known – then his shock and grief would have been genuine. As it is, he’s avoiding people around the nick, which isn’t all that out of character for him, so no-one would be surprised. He’s staying put inside his and Lewis’s office with the blinds drawn, and the one or two hapless DCs who have dared to interrupt him have been sent away with a curt dismissal.

Lyn will have been told the truth; Innocent told him that Lewis intended to phone her once it got to a more reasonable hour, and to urge her to stay out of sight. No statement will be issued by the police, but they don’t need to. The media has already picked up rumours of an explosion at a flat which is understood to be the home of a senior police officer, and there are eye-witness statements about a body bag. Yes, de Vries will be convinced that he succeeded. 

It feels different today being in this office without Lewis – different from his boss’s absence over the past two weeks, while Lewis was in Italy with his daughter. His governor was supposed to have been back today, sitting at that desk directly behind James. But he isn’t, and although James knows that – contrary to what almost everyone else in the nick believes – Lewis is alive and well, there’s still a sick feeling in his gut that won’t go away. 

But for a full bladder, Lewis would actually be dead. That, and the fact that his boss is one of the most observant – in every way – copper James has worked with. Who else, in the middle of the night and tired after a journey, would have noticed the faint ticking sound, and checked it out? 

James’s sick feeling isn’t helped by the sombre mood around the nick; after all, Lewis is one of the most–liked and respected coppers here. No-one, other than one or two blow-in senior officers who haven’t yet learned to see past Lewis’s facade of the hail-fellow-well-met Geordie to respect the sharp intelligence beneath, has a bad word to say about him. The entire nick is mourning one of its own.

From what he’s been able to work out from what Innocent didn’t say, Lewis is somewhere in hiding, under police protection. But Hugo de Vries is an extremely clever bastard who has managed to fake his own death at least once, and got the better of one of the cleverest and most effective detectives Oxford CID has ever known – and on multiple occasions. What if de Vries was watching; what if he had someone on the inside, or paid one of the paramedics or the DCs who was inside Lewis’s flat and knows the truth? What if...

But what ifs are futile. James has no choice but to go with what he knows, and trust that those whose job it is to track de Vries down – a task with which he has not been allowed to become involved – will find the man and return him to secure custody.

* * *

In the late afternoon, the stakes are abruptly raised.

Innocent sends for James, and when he arrives in her office, closing the door carefully behind him, she pushes an evidence bag across to him. In it is a photograph – of Lewis’s daughter Lyn. It’s clearly very recent, as she is obviously pregnant. 

Across the top of the photo, in bright red ink, are the words, _Tell Lewis to come out of hiding, or his loved ones will pay the price_.

James’s blood runs cold. “ _Fuck_. Sorry, ma’am. De Vries knows Lewis is alive?”

“Or suspects, which amounts to more or less the same thing.” Innocent’s expression is resolute. “Naturally, we’re taking steps to ensure Lyn Lewis and her partner are protected. And in one respect this may actually be a positive development. If de Vries thinks he’s failed, he’ll want to try again, so our search area won’t be as large as previously thought.”

The thought of Hugo de Vries still trying to kill Lewis is absolutely not a positive development as far as James is concerned. 

“At least he doesn’t know where Lewis is.” James flicks the evidence bag. “Not if he’s issuing this kind of threat.”

Innocent picks up the bag and puts it into a drawer. “Not necessarily. It could be a clever bluff. Either way, it won’t work. He might be a clever bastard, but he’s no match for a modern-day police force after two decades in a maximum-security prison.”

Which is only what James had thought himself, but Morse had no doubt assumed the same twenty-one years ago, and had been proven spectacularly wrong. 

Well, he’s going to be prepared, which means making sure he knows every single thing there is to know about Hugo de Vries, even if he has to stay here all night to do it.

* * *

It’s raining the following morning when James leaves his flat, rubbing red eyes; he’d finally gone home at close to midnight, and then tossed and turned for a couple of hours, his mind filled with horrifying images of a dead and mutilated Inspector Lewis. Even his dreams were haunted, with Lewis’s sightless eyes staring up from a part–opened body bag, and Hugo de Vries holding the Masonic square and compass and laughing maniacally.

He’s hurrying down the garden path to his car, when out of the corner of his eye he notices an elderly woman struggling to carry her shopping while walking with a Zimmer frame. He halts, shoving his keys back into his pocket. “Are you going far? Can I help you?”

The woman’s hunched over, and she barely looks up at him. “You’re very kind, young man. I live at Number 36.”

Three doors down, James calculates, and it’s odd that he hasn’t seen her before now. “Let me take the bags.” He stops next to her and reaches out – and suddenly the woman straightens and she’s holding a knife, pointing it at him.

One segment of his brain’s vaguely aware that the knife came out of the Zimmer frame, while the rest of him’s screaming _threat!_

She lurches in his direction with a vicious stabbing motion, aimed straight at his upper thigh. Twisting quickly, he avoids the worst of it, though the blade pierces his trousers and grazes the skin. He reaches for her – no, _his_ , because he knows who this is now – wrist, to try to twist the knife out of the man’s hand, but de Vries straightens and evades James’s grasp, and immediately lunges again, with sharp, quick movements. 

He might be in his sixties, but he’s got the strength and agility of a man thirty years his junior. De Vries must have bench–pressed every fucking day in his cell. Disarming the man and making an arrest is not going to be easy. James backs away, out of de Vries’s immediate reach, meaning the man has to come after him to try again – and then he kicks sharply at the Zimmer frame. It slams into de Vries and knocks him backwards. James follows his momentum forward, making another attempt to disarm his attacker, but even tangled up in the frame de Vries is alert and raising the knife, ready to bring it up at James in a sharp, swinging arc.

He won’t help anyone, least of all Lewis, if he gets himself killed. James backs away, then races for his car, parked a few paces away, clicking on the electronic key as he runs. 

Inside, doors locked, he’s breathing heavily, relief at escaping with his life slamming through him, as he calls for urgent assistance.

* * *

“He got away.” James doesn’t hide his disgust. “I just couldn’t disarm him. I still can’t believe how strong he was.”

“You did the right thing in removing yourself from the scene,” Innocent points out. “And you were very lucky to escape with nothing more than a superficial scratch. Of course I would be happier if he were in custody, but not at the price of a seriously wounded officer.” Her brows draw together. “Or do you think he intended to kill you?”

“Hard to say.” James thinks back to those seconds when de Vries was attacking him, when it seemed there was no escape from the vicious knife coming his way with powerful force. “If he’d got my thigh properly, he could have done serious damage and I might have bled out. A knife, though, rather than a gun... it’s possible that he wanted to send a message and wanted me alive to deliver it.”

Innocent nods. “That’s possible. And you’re certain it was de Vries?”

“Positive. He’s definitely a master of disguise, but I recognised his eyes from the photographs.”

Innocent’s about to reply, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. “This just arrived, Ma’am. The desk sergeant thought you should see it immediately.”

With a nod and a brief thanks, Innocent dismisses the PC, then opens the plain envelope, removing the postcard inside with tweezers. The picture is another image from _The Magic Flute._. On the reverse, James sees as soon as Innocent turns it over, is a brief message.

_Tell Lewis next time I won’t miss_.

James’s reaction is immediate. “Don’t tell Lewis.” Not just because he doesn’t want his governor worrying about him on top of everything else, including his daughter’s safety. James read the de Vries case file, after all. This is exactly what de Vries had done to Morse: he’d gone after, and killed, people who were important to Morse. The woman Morse had been seeing. Morse’s former governor. James absolutely does not want Lewis thinking that history’s repeating itself.

“I have to tell him. That doesn’t mean I would allow him to do anything stupid.” Innocent drums her fingers on the desk. “So, you’re at risk – and we need to make a list of anyone else who might be identifiable as somehow close to Lewis.”

“Dr Hobson,” James says immediately.

“Is on her way to the US for a medical conference,” Innocent supplies, and James lets out a slow breath of relief. “And I did check. She definitely boarded the plane. Coincidental, but entirely fortunate. I’ll need you to give me the names of any other officers or anyone you know of who might be known as being friendly with Lewis.”

“There is a better way.” James looks straight at Innocent. “Get me some Kevlar, and let him try again.”

“I am _not_ letting you act as bait.” Innocent’s tone is sharply angry. “Not with someone like de Vries.” She turns back to her computer. “That list, please. Within the hour. And you will not leave the nick today unless it’s absolutely essential and you’re accompanied by two trained protection officers. Oh, and I need the key to your flat, and any alarm codes. After what happened to Lewis, I’m not leaving anything to chance.”

So exactly how are they going to catch de Vries? As the man has already proved, he really does have the ability to disguise himself beyond recognition. James had studied dozens of photographs yesterday, yet still didn’t at all suspect that the elderly woman outside his flat was anything other than what she appeared to be. De Vries could be anyone, anywhere, and he’ll keep going after anyone he believes to be associated with Lewis, in an attempt to flush Lewis out.

And of course Lewis, if Innocent means to keep him informed, will sooner or later insist that he won’t allow other officers to be put at risk for his sake, and he’ll show himself.

And that’s what is leaving a churning feeling in James’s stomach as he returns to his office, keys and alarm code in Innocent’s possession. It’s a sense of dread that, for a second day, refuses to go away.

And now it’s accompanied by guilt. _Why_ couldn’t he have arrested de Vries when he had the chance?

* * *

It’s hard to know which is worst. The frustration of not being allowed any involvement in the effort of tracking down de Vries and being confined to tedious double-checking of a stack of weekly time-sheets; Innocent’s order that he is to avoid interaction with other officers in the nick as far as possible, keeping him isolated in his office; or the empty desk, a constant reminder that Lewis isn’t here and almost never would have been again.

And, now, the nagging doubt in James’s mind: after this, will Lewis even come back? They never did resolve the question of Lewis retiring. The subject just hadn’t been discussed again after that brief conversation in the Vicky Arms’ beer-garden. It had felt as if James’s clarification that he would only leave if Lewis did had somehow resolved the subject, but had it? Lewis had never actually said so, after all – and he’s just come back from two weeks away with his daughter, the person pushing Lewis to retire and move to Manchester.

After this, James just bets that Lyn Lewis will be putting yet more pressure on Lewis the first chance she gets – assuming she hasn’t already been able to talk to her father. And it would all be entirely reasonable, of course: she’s already lost one parent, and now she’s almost lost her other parent mere months before Lewis’s first grandchild is born. So of course Lewis should retire, move away from Oxford and settle in Manchester where he’ll be safe and able to see as much of his family as he wants.

But, no, worst is the constant fear that de Vries will find out where Lewis is – and why not? He still appears capable of almost anything – and dispose of or get past the protection team and succeed in his mission of murdering Lewis. 

And not knowing where Lewis is, or exactly how securely he is guarded, only makes that fear all the worse. Not to mention the constant guilt nagging at him. He had de Vries. The bastard had been right there, within reach, and James hadn’t been able to subdue and arrest him – a man nearly twice his age. What sort of useless copper is he that he’d run away instead of doing what it would have taken to bring de Vries in?

Shortly after lunchtime – not that James felt like eating anything – things get worse again. He’s summoned to Innocent’s office.

She gets straight to the point. “I just got a call. Your flat’s been booby–trapped.”

James sinks into a chair. _Fuck_. “I thought there were officers watching the building.” Officers who either fell down on the job, or de Vries is even more of a threat than they’d thought.

“They’ve been outside since shortly after you called in this morning. A resident in the street behind yours phoned the local nick to report seeing someone acting suspiciously in one of the back gardens. The desk sergeant there reported it to our officers, who thought they should request a check on your flat just in case. Given de Vries’s reputation, a team trained in counter-terrorism was sent out – and just as well. The trap was an explosive device attached to your front door. It would have blown you to bits as soon as you’d turned the key in the lock.”

The breath whooshes out of him, and it’s several seconds before he can speak. “And killed or seriously injured several of my neighbours as well.” Christ. There’s bile in his throat, and if he has to move he’ll be sick. People could have been killed, just because they happen to live next to him. Thank God for that alert neighbour. He scrubs his face with his hands.

“Indeed.” Innocent’s tone is desert-dry. “Naturally, your building and the surrounding houses have been evacuated, and the Bomb Squad is still working on defusing the bomb and making the area safe. They’ll then check your flat for any further sabotage.”

“Good.” His voice doesn’t sound quite right. “Why the _hell_ weren’t they watching the back?”

“I have asked that question. For now, obviously efforts to find de Vries will be intensified. I’ve allocated several additional officers full-time to the hunt. As for you–” Innocent looks directly at James. “You’re going into protective custody. I can’t risk him succeeding on a third attempt.”

He hadn’t expected that. “But...” He shakes his head. “If you do that, then it’ll only put someone else at risk.” And that’s his fault, too. If he’d arrested de Vries this morning... 

“And your safety is worth less than that of anyone else?” Innocent stands. “No arguments, James. We have a van parked by the rear entrance waiting for you. I’ve had my PA collect the change of clothes you keep in your office. I want you out of my nick in the next two minutes.”

* * *

The van’s parked right up against the back door. Two men in overalls meet James just inside the door and bundle him into the van – apparently borrowed from an electrical contractor. Mere seconds later, he’s being driven away. 

Innocent didn’t tell him where he’s going, though that’s not a surprise. The force keeps a couple of safe houses in the city and two or three others dotted around the county, for times when witnesses to crimes need to be kept safe from possible reprisals. Lewis will most likely be in one of the locations away from the city, given the nature of the threat de Vries poses. 

This shouldn’t be happening. He shouldn’t be going into hiding, using valuable police resources to protect him. He should be out there on the streets, making up for his failure this morning by hunting de Vries down and arresting him before the bastard can go after anyone else.

“There’s a spare pair of overalls back there. Put them on,” the man in the passenger seat calls back to him, shaking James out of his abstraction. “There should be a baseball cap as well – that blond hair’s too noticeable.”

James has just finished pulling on the overalls and cap when the van slows down, then makes a sharp, bumpy turn. Immediately, the engine’s turned off, and the officer in the passenger seat turns to look at him. “Okay, sergeant, grab the toolbox and _move_. We want you inside before anyone has a chance to take a good look at you. Oh, and hunch over so your height’s less noticeable, okay?”

As he jumps down from the rear of the van, following instructions, James just has time to take in that they’re outside an unremarkable-looking 1950s semi-detached house in a street full of similar houses. Then he’s inside, in the carpeted hall, and being directed towards the back of the house, into the kitchen. The blinds are down, and there’s not much light in the room. There’s another man leaning against a counter in the corner, and he steps forward as James enters.

“Overalls off, please, Hathaway. We’ll have one of our officers get back into the van, so that anyone watching will see three in and three out.” He extends a hand. “Sergeant Mason, Oxford Police protection squad. I’m responsible for your safety while you’re here, and what I say goes.”

“He means it,” a familiar voice says from the doorway. Halfway through stripping off the overalls, James whips his head around. It is Lewis, looking exactly like himself and with no visible signs of injury. He sags back against the wall, eyes closing briefly. Yes, Innocent had assured him that Lewis was safe, but he hadn’t realised until now just how much he needed the evidence of his own eyes and ears. 

“Sir.” He tries to come up with something to say, but can’t. Lewis doesn’t seem to think it strange; he just nods in James’s directly, a very Lewis-like understanding expression in his eyes.

* * *

A little later, they’re on their own in the house’s small sitting-room, which has a conservatory between it and the back garden. A protection officer is stationed in the darkened conservatory, and other officers are watching the front of the house.

“It’s secure here, right enough.” Lewis sips his tea. “Pretty bloody boring, though, if you ask me.”

Boring – and tension-filled, James is certain. He knows how he’d have felt if he’d been shut up in here for the past day and a half, and is pretty sure he understands how Lewis must be feeling, knowing that other people are under threat because of him. It’s how he feels now, too; others are facing a threat to their lives because he was as useless as a probationer.

Perhaps the boredom explains why Lewis seems pleased to have James here. He must appreciate the company of someone other than his protection team.

“Not easy to pop out for a pint,” James comments, making an attempt at humour. It falls flat, though; his voice is all wrong.

Lewis’s gaze rests on him. “Bad enough that that bastard threatened Lyn, but I’m fucking _furious_ that he tried to kill you. Twice. Thank Christ he didn’t manage it.” His fists clench.

James nods. “I’m more furious about the bomb. Trying to kill me’s one thing, but potentially killing or maiming innocent people just because they happen to be my neighbours?”

Lewis nods. “I’m sorry, man.”

“No.” This time, James manages exactly the right tone: implacable. “You will _not_ apologise to me for Hugo de Vries’s actions. None of this is your fault, sir.” He exhales loudly. “I didn’t even want Innocent to tell you about it.”

“Course she told me.” Lewis shakes his head, frowning in disapproval. “Not a decision you get to make, James.”

“Sir.”James drops his gaze. He’s not going to win this one. Time to change the subject. “How was your Italian holiday?”

Lewis snorts. “You already know. Texted you most days, didn’t I?” He shrugs. “Enjoyed Rome, thought Venice was too touristy. How was your week? Innocent keep you busy with reports?”

This is the conversation he’d expected to have with Lewis yesterday morning – a morning that seems far more than a little over a day ago now. It’s absolutely not the kind of conversation that seems appropriate for this setting – yet, given the two of them, it’s probably the only one they’re capable of having. “Actually, we picked up an assault investigation. Made an arrest, too.” He allows a faint, proud smile to appear on his lips.

Lewis raises an eyebrow. “No less than I’d expect.”

James smiles again briefly, then falls silent and his gaze drops as he remembers this morning.

“Come on, man, out with it.” 

James’s head jerks up. Lewis is watching him with the kind of assessing gaze that feels as if he sees everything James wants to hide. And that’s when he realises he’s been fidgeting. The only thing he can do is make a clean breast of it to Lewis. He owes it to the man. 

James takes a deep breath. “Sir, I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I completely messed up this morning. I could have arrested de Vries and ended this whole thing, but instead I let him get away.”

Lewis’s eyebrows shoot up, and his expression is instantly disapproving. “So, what? You should have let him stab you instead? Maybe kill you? You think I wanted that? Bloody hell, man!”

“Well, no, but–” James begins, but Lewis gets to his feet.

“You can stop there before you say anything else that makes me wonder what’s happened to your brains. Come on, time I introduced you to the team.”

As James stands as well, Lewis presses his hand to James’s back to escort him out of the room. And that, somehow, is more reassuring than anything Lewis has said in the last half-hour.

* * *

There are three protection officers currently on duty. They work twelve–hour shifts, Lewis explains, and swap over twice a day. That they’re single-minded about their task is obvious. The team leader, who looks like he plays rugby and lifts weight off-duty, sets out one simple rule for James: what he says goes. After that, there are the detailed rules: no going outside the house. No standing anywhere even close to a window. No communication with the outside world (James wants to ask how Lewis has been talking to Innocent, but decides against it). And be ready to move at any time should their location be compromised.

Shift-change happens just before dinner, and dinner is takeaway, brought by the officers arriving for duty from an Indian restaurant James and Lewis both like. Afterwards, Lewis stays in the kitchen chatting to one of the officers, so James takes advantage of the opportunity to use a laptop to catch up on news. There’s nothing, though, that suggests any updates on de Vries’s whereabouts. 

And that, as he’s sure it also is for Lewis, is what makes being here, shut up and away from active police work, unable to lift a bloody _finger_ to put that bastard back behind bars where he belongs, utterly unbearable.

Except that he’s at least with Lewis here, able to see for himself that his governor is safe and well and unharmed, and – for now – out of de Vries’s reach. And maybe that makes being stuck here worthwhile.

* * *

Bedtime, and that’s when James discovers that one of the protection team brought an overnight bag for him in addition to the change of clothes from his office. Well, an overnight bag containing an extra change of clothes as well as toiletries, bought for him in Marks and Spencer judging by the carrier-bag.

It’s also when he discovers that he and Lewis are going to be sharing a bedroom.

Lewis doesn’t appear surprised by this, or remotely put out, and James realises that of course his boss would have known. This is a small house – two or three bedrooms – and the protection team also need to sleep in shifts. 

The bedroom isn’t especially large, and it contains a standard double bed and, pushed against the wall nearest the door, a folding bed, with sheets and blankets resting on top of it. 

Lewis comes in, having used the house’s single bathroom, as James is making up the folding bed. He shakes his head, clearly unimpressed. “They said there was a bed they could bring in for you. Didn’t realise it was one of those Zed–Bed things. You can’t sleep on that – it’s not even long enough.” Lewis picks up the pillow and throws it in a perfect arc to the head of the double bed. “Won’t be the first time I’ve shared a bed with another copper.”

James pauses in the act of shaking out a blanket. He hadn’t been all that confident that the folding bed would offer much in the way of a good night’s sleep, but... “You’re sure, sir?” 

“Said so, didn’t I? Now, go an’ use the bathroom while it’s free.”

When James comes back, Lewis is already in bed. As if to reinforce his decision on sleeping arrangements, he flips back the duvet on the opposite side for James. Taking great care not to have the bad manners to brush against his boss, James climbs in, and for a few moments there’s silence.

Silence between the two of them has never been awkward – but they’ve never shared a bed before. James glances sideways at Lewis, realising his boss is watching him with a faintly amused quirk to his lips. He finds himself needing to break the silence

“I didn’t expect they’d bring me to the same place as you.” James had assumed that they’d be in separate locations to make it more difficult for de Vries to find them, but of course Lewis is his real target. And a single location is a better use of resources.

“Why not? Anyway, I told Innocent I wanted you here, once I heard about this morning. Want you where I can keep an eye on you.” Lewis huffs, then frowns at James. “Don’t want to hear any more about Kevlar an’ turning yourself into bait.”

He feels himself flush. “She didn’t have to tell you that.”

Lewis snorts. He doesn’t even need to say anything. Of course Innocent wouldn’t have spared him that. Time to change the subject. “You must be worried about Lyn.”

“No, actually.” Lewis shifts in the bed, turning towards James. “She and Tim are safe. I don’t know where they are, of course, but they’re well-protected. Innocent makes sure I get reports a few times a day. Not that I’m happy they’re having their lives disrupted like this,” he adds, a low growl to his voice. “But so far it’s just been that photo. There’s been no actual attempt to get to her. Unlike you.”

“Easier, I suppose. I’m in Oxford, after all. A couple of visible attempts to get at me attracts attention quicker.”

“ _Christ_.” Lewis grabs at James’s hand, squeezing it in a grip that almost hurts. “Innocent said you’d read the original case-file. Didn’t you see what he did to Morse? He murdered people Morse cared about. Loved.” Lewis swallows. “Then, of course, he did it in a way that was designed to leave Morse the chief suspect, but that’s beside the point. De Vries wasn’t just trying to scare you, man. He would’ve _killed_ you.”

James swallows, staring down at their joined hands. Somehow, his hand has turned around in Lewis’s grasp and is now curled around his boss’s. 

“Told her after this morning I didn’t want you going anywhere without protection officers.” Lewis’s voice has thickened. “Once they found the bomb... I was all set to tell her that I was comin’ out of hiding unless she sent you here immediately. Didn’t need to – she’s got more sense than you, thankfully.” 

James’s gaze is still fixed on their hands. He’s known Lewis likes him, of course. Enjoys his company over a pint and occasionally a curry. But this leaves him speechless.

Except, of course, how can he not respond in some way to what Lewis has just revealed?

He glances up. Lewis is watching him through eyes which are suspiciously moist. 

“I...” James has to halt; his throat’s blocked. “When I was outside your flat yesterday...” He can’t finish. His heart’s pounding so loudly Lewis must be able to hear it. Christ, Lewis will think he’s a fucking moron.

Lewis’s hand tightens around his again. “I’m sorry you had to see that, canny lad. If I’d known you were outside–” He shakes his head. “Probably couldn’t have done anything, but I never wanted you to think that.”

“Not your fault, sir.” And he actually managed to say it without choking up, though he wasn’t able to look at Lewis while he spoke. 

“Robbie.” James’s gaze is pulled back to his boss. “Robbie,” Lewis repeats. “Reckon it’s time you called me something other than sir.”

“Robbie.” Two short syllables, but carrying far more significance. 

“Come on.” Robbie slides down in the bed, still gripping James’s hand. “Time to get some sleep.”

As James settles down as well, Robbie releases his hand, but instead wraps his arm around James’s shoulders, pulling him closer until they’re curled together. “This okay? Not exactly a huge bed.”

Surely he should find this awkward, snuggled in bed against his governor? Except Lewis – Robbie – isn’t just his governor, and hasn’t been just his governor for a very long time. It’s not awkward; it’s probably the most comfortable James has been in a very long time. Comfortable – and safe. They’re both safe here. And he’s so very tired...

“Nice,” he mumbles, feeling his eyes drift closed.

* * *

He’s awakened by the shrill sound of a phone. The bed shifts. “Lewis,” his bed-companion says. Then, “Ma’am.”

James rolls over and pulls himself into a sitting position, despite the fact that Innocent can’t actually see him. Lewis, he sees, is also sitting up, leaning against the headboard as he listens. Just past Lewis, on the bedside cabinet, the alarm clock is showing 5:13. “I see, ma’am. That’s good news.” Another pause. “All right. We’ll see you later.”

Lewis – no, Robbie, he’d told James – leans over to put his mobile down on the bedside cabinet, then turns to James. It’s too dark to see much of his expression. But there’s no mistaking the relief in his voice. “They’ve got de Vries.”

Relief slams into James as well, but there is one worry on his mind. “Did he go after anyone else?”

“No. It was just good old-fashioned police work. Forensics on the bomb, fingerprints, CCTV. They tracked him down to a B&B on the Iffley Road and an armed response team arrested him half an hour ago. He was stupid enough to resist arrest and got shot in the process. Sounds like his kneecap might be smashed. That should put paid to any further arrest attempts, not that he’d get the chance.” Robbie relaxes into his pillows again, sounding as satisfied as when they’ve wrapped up one of their most challenging cases. “It’s over. Told Innocent we’d be at the nick later this morning, and I’ll phone Lyn once it gets to a decent hour.”

James allows himself to lie down next to Robbie again, and is rewarded for his efforts; Robbie wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him closer. “This still okay?” His tone suggests that the answer is important.

“Yes.” James leaves no room for doubt in his tone.

“Good.” Robbie nudges James’s head onto his shoulder. “Reckon we’ve got about an hour and a half before we need to get up. Might as well be comfortable.”

“Mmm.” James has no argument with that. In fact, if Robbie suggested they never had to move again, he’d be in full agreement.

“Got something I want to ask you, man.” Robbie turns his head so that their faces are so close James can feel the slight puffs of his governor’s breath. “Was thinkin’ about it all the time I was in Italy.” His arm tightens around James’s shoulders. “You never said, you know. If you want to resign, I mean. I know what you said – if I go, you go. But it shouldn’t be down to me.”

“It is, though.” James makes himself meet Lewis’s scrutiny without evasion. “I don’t want to do the job without you. And I don’t want to leave – even for St Gerard’s – if you’re still doing the job. It’s as simple as that.”

Robbie shifts again so that his head’s resting against James’s. “Going nowhere. It was all Lyn trying to convince me. I probably wouldn’t have taken it too seriously, but then you said you might leave. Don’t want to do the job without you either.”

James dares to lay his arm across Robbie’s chest, and gets his hand taken in Robbie’s free hand as reward for his efforts. “Looks like we’re both staying, then.”

“Yeah.” There’s a brief pressure against the top of his head. “You an’ me against the criminals and murderers of Oxford. Just as it should be.”

The two of them staying together at work – but there’s an entire unspoken conversation going on here at the same time, isn’t there? There has been since last night, or maybe even since James got to this house. And it’s not just about them being together at work.

“You and me,” James echoes, and leans in closer for the kiss he knows is going to be mutual.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> My chosen tropes were:  
> \- absence makes the heart grow fonder  
> \- sharing  
> \- protectiveness


End file.
